


Gala Of Honey

by SE_Soignee (Soignee)



Series: Sirens Era [4]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Cerberus - Freeform, F/M, OTP handholding, POV First Person, PostWar, Soignee has fun with OCs who aren't C-Sec, The Citadel, Zakera Ward, fashionable batarians!, ori focused story!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24701470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soignee/pseuds/SE_Soignee
Summary: Smile like you mean it, sunshine.Ori understood the cost of the Reaper War, especially in the aftermath of it. Her charity is put to the test when a levo-based planet is auctioned off by the Hierarchy, and sold to a galaxy starved of supplies and food. That's not the only disaster in her life, however- especially when her past comes back to haunt her.When you had a broken galaxy to home and feed, how far would you go to help it? where did your allegiance truly lie, when you had secrets of your own to keep? If home was where the heart is, then where was that to Oriana Lee, anyway?
Relationships: Kolyat Krios/Oriana Lawson, Miranda Lawson & Oriana Lawson
Series: Sirens Era [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1442938
Comments: 26
Kudos: 16





	1. Late Night Manicures

**Oriana’s Apartment, Upper Wards. 3:02am.  
**

If I stayed in bed any longer thinking about tomorrow, I would suffocate.

There was only so much ceiling I could stare at. What I wanted was fresh air and cold water; my Citadel apartment couldn’t provide much of either, but the cold tile of my bathroom was better than stifling bed covers.

I could deal with the tangible problems of tomorrow in my sleep, if I could get some. A stroppy Matriarch demanding better tables for the gala; trying to find a last minute thermal pipe supplier for the colony; security details of the hotel; Kolyat’s idea of a suit.

They were things I could solve, a to-do list of issues. Dealing with the fallout of an anxiety dream was a harder box to tick, especially when my parents were the feature.

I knew it was all abstract nonsense completely unrelated to my day, but my mind remembers the refrain of trauma no matter what song sheet I’m singing from.

Tonight’s dream was a fragmented mess, as they often are. I was lost in the crowds of the Citadel, a child dependent on others for help. What woke me was the vague sense of my mother’s disappointment, that I had angered her by letting go of her hand. “How are we ever going to get anything done?” was what I think she said. The feeling remained a lodged weight in my chest, even though the memory of it was beginning to fade.

They were frequent after Sanctuary, the night terrors. I was relieved this one was only an alteration of my grief.

I had worse moments to relive: locked in my room each night; the processing of the families; the labs. Memories that could still sucker punch my stomach and sweep me off my feet, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

Tonight’s private show only featured a tacky Mid-Ward shopping mall and a lost child’s panic, hardly a horror vid. I knew my parents were gone. All of it was my anxiety dressed up in something else, none of it was real. Omma and Papa might have died five years ago, but in my dreams I always remembered the things I forgot.

Kolyat remained oblivious to my insomnia, his chest vibrating in rumbles as he slept beside me. Even asleep I knew he was peaceful; if he was awake he would fuss, and I couldn’t cope with his questions just yet.

Kol was always so fascinated by what my brain decided to dump into thoughts when I was sleeping, nightmare or not. He was a man who only remembered, never dreamed. I would tell him the usual abstract filler they were -that Fish tried to conduct an orchestra, but my violin was filled with water and I couldn’t help- and he would listen so intently, amused by whatever I said.

When we first met, he told me that drell rarely dreamed in abstracts. In the old days of Rakhana only the seers could see visions as they slept, a gift from Arashu herself.

Other people’s subconscious thoughts were often spaced trash, but Kolyat always wanted to know mine. It was something to do with how his species processed the REM stage of sleep, or something like it. Even my father only pretended to listen every morning at breakfast. I’d get a “that’s nice, sunshine. Eat your eggs,” followed by a pat on the head.

It was pointless lying here. Despite my careful exit, the movement made Kol roll over to his side, fins peeking over the edge of the cover. “ _Hmmgh_?” was what I think I heard him say, though his eyes were shut. Kol had a sixteen-hour shift to face at C-Sec in four and a half hours, and I hoped to whatever God he was fond of swearing at he would go back to sleep.

“I need the bathroom,” I whispered back.

“ _Hnngh._ ” If I wanted to crawl back into bed after, there would be a fight for cover supremacy. He rolled over again, taking half the blankets with him.

My chest was a tight band of anxiety I had to deal with, and I needed space to unwind it. My entire apartment was an explosion of glitter bags and fake candles meant for the gala in two weeks, and I clipped a box of packed ornaments on my way through.

I needed running water to calm down. The lights flickered on low as soon as I locked the bathroom door, an energy mode set for the night cycle. My place might be the Upper Wards but rationing was for all, and I couldn’t take another shower until my allowance switched on at 6am.

The dream hurt me more than I thought. What was the point of even sleeping? The alarm would go in four hours, but I was too wired to focus on anything but my breathing.

I couldn’t even run the sink thanks to the shortage. Instead, I played the sound of a faucet from my omni-tool, waiting for the tightness of my chest to unravel as I stared at myself in the mirror.

I was a rumpled mess in lilac short pyjamas. _My name is Oriana Lee. I have dark hair. I have blue eyes._

There was no water rationing back in Illium when I was I growing up, not even in the immigrant quarter. Papa would tell me stories while I slipped around in the bath, my favourite play space. Sometimes I was a mermaid in the murky waters, a space explorer charting the unknown. I played Spectres in the tub with toys, making sure the dolls had the best outfits- upholding justice in style was important, obviously.

I remember hiding from the vodyanoy the most, protecting my toes from monsters- or my parent’s grabbing hands. Like a husk reaching, sharp metal claws as- no.

_My name is Oriana Lee. I have dark hair. I have blue eyes._

There was water at Sanctuary, plenty of it, the sound dripping in my room. A luxury compared to the families stuck in processing. I was-

No. I am in my bathroom, it’s a Tuesday. I am on the Citadel. It’s- dammit, it’s 3:15 am.

My next appointment was in two weeks. Therapy was regular, but not often. I’m doing better, just a monthly check in now.

It’s not Dr. Marsten’s office. He taught me to list five things I could see, trick myself into the here and now. It worked, most of the time; I found it more soothing to list them out loud, but at least I could do it in the privacy of my bathroom.

The mirror, that’s one. It needed cleaning from toothpaste spit, probably mine- Kolyat was too neat. “Mirror,” I said, staring at my reflection again. Christ, my bags were horrendous.

_My name is Oriana Lee. I have dark hair. I have blue eyes._

“Brush.” My hairbrush, discarded on the sink. Kolyat hated the hair I left in it, but it’s not as if I could leave it out for the birds to build their nests with like I used to. I had a feeling my father picked it up from the balcony and threw it in the garbage unit anyway - there were no birds on Illium.

Just three more, five was enough. “Shower. Drell toothpaste. Nail polish.” I said them quietly, but I could still hear an echo bounce off the tiles.

It was better than the mindless counting I used to do to calm down. I know there are 1,008 tiles in this room, for example. Not that I counted them one by one, obviously. Area equals length by width squared; numbers are easy to think of as nothing much of anything.

_Civilian processing ratios: Adults, 60% sent to integration._

Things to move. Logistics. Don’t separate the children from the families, it makes it easier. Little bodies stacked in rows, Miranda never wanted me to see, but-

I was caught in a nasty feedback loop, that's all. I knew what my brain was doing, but it wouldn’t win. “Mirror. Brush. Shower. Weird drell toothpaste. Nail polish.”

I picked up the nail polish machine to refill the cartridges, the meter had flashed low all week. My manicure would last the week, but my pedicure was a mess.

_My name is Oriana Lee. I have dark hair. I have blue eyes._

My nails were a soft, neutral pink to match tomorrow’s dress. Tomorrow I was meeting the caterers at the Wildor Hotel, Zakera Ward, the Citadel.

It was not Horizon, I was not there. I cannot smell rotting plants and ozone, but the cloying sweetness of my spilled body lotion and the sharp chemical scent of nail polish. “Mirror. Brush. Shower. Weird drell toothpaste. Nail polish.”

Not sure on the shoes I would be wearing tomorrow- the strappy ones looked the best, but I knew I would be on my feet all day. Beauty is pain, Omma used to say. Omma or Mama, never Mom- she hated Mom. She was Mother when I was annoyed though, which was often.

I miss her. I miss Papa. He would be so proud of me; neither would be happy I stopped playing the violin, though. Practise, practise.

One more breath. Another, _and_ -

Right. Things to do for the gala. Matriarchs to email, guest lists to check, security details to confirm, toenails to paint.

Might as well start now.

It was quiet when I left the bathroom, fragments of glitter from the gift bags sticking to my skin like _tzera_ burrs. I regretted my choice of gift the moment I made contact with the stuff, even if it all looked suitably thematic for the gala.

Stupid things. I was as shiny as Kolyat after we packed a hundred bags last night, right after our dinner. I took one look at the darkness of the bedroom and listened for him, but heard only silence. I couldn’t join him- I was still light years away from sleep.

Three hours until I got up anyway. I could have stims and tea in the morning - breakfast of champions. Might as well stay awake.

We needed money to build a hospital, that was the point of this mess.

I was given complete freedom from Kellam to run the fundraiser however I liked. I picked a festival theme, because everyone understood the joys of one. I wanted to trigger nostalgia of warm _sitis_ buns of a Spirit Day parade, to the mulled _homso_ of a salarian Clan meet.

Happy guests meant happy donations; no one wanted guilt served with their entrée. My festival might be different to traditional galas, but my boss trusted me to do it right. I knew this project was being used as a test for a possible promotion, so I took a risk to impress and went all out.

My work would keep me on the Citadel more. Less waste water management projects on colonies, but still a similar kind of sewage funnelling. My job at Kellam Industries was _mostly_ engineering _,_ if you didn’t know we were a charity that specialised in that.

The name didn’t exactly say it was. Even though we were founded by an asari, we were multispecies and proud. A cross section of doctors, engineers, and scientists that wanted to use our skills for charity. My boss might be turian, but his boss was salarian, and my colleagues ranged from Council to non-Council species alike.

Matriarch Keliasira -Kellam’s founder- took one look at the aftermath of the Krogan Rebellions and wanted to do something about the lives ruined by it. Absolute democracy might be a sharp pill for the galaxy to swallow, but charity work was still like chewing glass.

I left the Alliance for Kellam. I would do it again in a heartbeat, too. The universe is more than humanity, I believed in the message- but Citadel politics made our work difficult.

Not because of the magnitude of charity work needed to fix the galaxy, but because of the red tape around it. Because if the event was just a gala for our charity, I wouldn’t be counting items in my bathroom.

I understood that. Smiling at politicians was just as needed as rebuilding colonies, I knew this. Networking was part of any charity, but the scale of the event had expanded within a week thanks to one man deciding to RSVP.

The hospital the gala was funding had already reached its goal, due to a substantial portion of credits from the Alliance. A mixed species colony set on the border of the Terminus system would home ten thousand refugees into apartment blocks with the donation, too. We even had enough leftover to pay for a mobile clinic, a pet project all of us were desperate to see live.

At the time, we took the money because that’s what charities _do_. The Alliance seemed to have no ulterior motives to their aid, other than PR.

Naive, really. The Alliance Councillor expressed a need to talk to Kellam Industries about a “partnership,” months after the donation, his foot jammed back in the door.

We had already spent half of their credits at the time. Councillor Osoba had reached out himself instead of through aides, he considered Kellam important enough. He even personally responded to the RSVP I sent for the gala: _I’m looking forward to your party my friend- it looks so fun. Even during times that test us, we all need moments of light in the dark. A festival is a beautiful idea._

Two weeks of correspondence and a brief meeting did not constitute a friendship, in my opinion. When a politician pretended there was one to begin with, it was always something else.

I never actually thought he would show- they never do. You send the invite out with a hope of a consolation donation from their PAs, but a Councillor of the Citadel actually wanted to come to my gala. He even personally signed off his emails to me as ‘Dominic,’ like he was some guy I had met at a bar.

It made me feel greasy.

With a shudder I switched on my terminal, the room faintly blue from the screen. Holos of various dignitaries and VIPs lined themselves up as I found the guest list; I had stared at names and faces for what seemed the hundredth time this week, already sick of the sight of them all.

Every guest was colour coded for the gala, organised by importance and how much trouble they would cause if left unattended. Councillor Dominic Osoba was outlined heavily in both.

I loathed the man now, he was the face of my ruined party.

The entertainment for the night was another two for one of trouble. ‘Derek’ and nothing else, a salarian who thought the human name sounded mysterious. He was our DJ for free, but the catch was his chaos, often fuelled by a cocktail of semi-legal stims. His PA reassured me he was off of them now, thanks to a stint at rehab. That the gig was important to him- of course it was.

A nice story, really. I was used to it now, the PR smoothing. Everyone lied to my face, but politely.

Half the guests would be on something -even the politicians- but Derek needed babysitting the most. Wildor Hotel’s unglamorous banquet hall and dining rooms was the only clean and functional venue of a broken Citadel, even if the place held all the warmth and class of a public changing room.

At least the festival decorations would cheer the place up. I just needed the expertise of a veteran tactician to control the guests, that was all. My original plan for the gala was that everyone turned up and enjoyed themselves, that I only had to bring them together. I amused myself by working out what they would talk about, and if they had common ground.

All of the fluff was lightyears from my problem, as it turned out the Alliance did want something in return from their hefty donation. There was a reason they sent Osoba on the charm offensive.

I was a ball of tight anger that _call me Dominic_ was using my gala to prop up his campaign, no that it helped. Several VIPs decided to finally RSVP in reaction, a domino effect in interest. They were the usual kind of sharp politicians, the kind that came with their own constant satellites of overworked PAs and sullen bodyguards.

It meant more bodies, more stress. More planning. I scrubbed my face with my hands, trying to work out if it was anger or anxiety that was turning my insides out.

Hmm. Anger, definitely anger.

All this commotion was over a vacant plot of land, not for my fundraiser. No one cared about a hospital on a colony anymore, the actual point of the gala. A background humdrum of politics would hover like flies over the dinner tables and drown it all out, no matter how loud the music was.

This was now about handshakes and campaign trails. My gala would have allegiances and deals made by the bar, right next to the stoned escorts and bored vidstars.

This was about refugees and rebuilding, things I usually understood. This was about Gellix.

The Alliance wanted first dibs at buying a vacant colony for their own damn people. The planet was Hierarchy owned and up for sale, levo-based and free of tenants. Kellam had no say in the ownership of course, but we were a neutral organisation with clout. With us behind the Alliance, people would think the sale would benefit the galaxy, not just a plain human interest.

There was nothing I could do to stop the human Councillor from coming. Even Kellam itself was split on the issue- several board members voted to stand by the Alliance, even if I voiced my concern.

No one would’ve given the place a second look before the war. Now? Jesus, now Gellix was a jewel in the crown of the Hierarchy- not that turians believed in royalty.

Of course, the Alliance wasn’t the only one interested in such a gem. Food banks were running low, and even homeworlds needed supplies. We were all desperate for more of everything, and the Alliance wanted Kellam by their side when they made a bid for the planet.

 _A start of a partnership to last beyond one colony_ , Call-me-Dominic’s email had said. _We want the same things. Kellam Industries wants clean water, food and shelter for everyone- and so do we._

Help us help you. They were pretty words, but what he and the Alliance needed was farming land for their people, and they wanted to outsource Kellam for the job.

I found myself staring at Councillor Osoba’s holo again, furious at the mess he caused. “Bastard man,” I told him, then slapped a hand over mouth. Kol was still sleeping, I had to be quiet. Kellam was thrice-fucked, to use his words.

Why did we have to pick a side, anyway? An Alliance handshake would set us down a path that went directly against centuries of morals and values that defined Kellam, but I didn’t know if we could afford to have them in the first place.

The war changed so much. I know nobody was fed by a promise, but the gala - _my_ gala- had become a stage. I had to fit ageing vidstars and hallex-snorting popstars around tables with four Republic matriarchs, three Dalatrasses, two Councillors, seven Ambassadors and a krogan Shaman.

They all thought the same, too- well, perhaps not the vidstars- _sell Gellix to us. We need it more._

My beautiful festival was a skycar wreck in slow motion, and here I was trying to fix it all with finger food. I was naive in thinking Kellam didn’t have to pick a side in politics, even if the war put us there in the first place.

The terminal blinked at me as I stared at it, this time a concerned email about the venue from the volus embassy. Brath could handle the VIPs, our security was never the problem. No matter what I did, tomorrow was bigger than Kellam Industries, and I was lost- because this was more personal than I thought.

Cerberus loomed.

They were mostly gone, but cells remained. Gellix has a history of interesting tenants: it was a colony that went from a krogan clan to house a private prison, but the last tenant was a familiarity that stung. A Cerberus cell had tucked themselves away on the northern pole during most of the war, hidden by the snow. Their research was gobbled up by the Alliance as soon as they were found, by none other than Commander Shepard. Something I wasn't meant to know, but did anyway.

It seemed no matter what I did, I would hear about Shepard and Cerberus for the rest of my life. Sometimes the mention alone could still catch me off-guard, a sharp, hard reminder to the gut. Only Kolyat knew about my ties now, but I knew his too. I could talk about Henry and Miranda Lawson and he would understand. He was on the edge of the Normandy, thanks to his father. It was a relief to share the burden of my recent history with someone other than my sister, and Kol always told me I was just as much of a victim as Sanctuary was for what happened to me.

I don’t think the world is as kind as Kol. If Kellam Industries found out about my past, I knew I would be fired- no questions asked. No one wanted the taint of Cerberus tied to them; I was so very tired of hiding it, always the fear I would stumble over my tongue and tell someone else.

I was protected by Miranda taking the brunt of it, as she always did. Randa could use the Lawson name without flinching, taking Cerberus hate head on. She even sat in Council-run war crime trials dressed in flawless white, no stains on her suit. I wasn’t her, and I was no Lawson either. I would always be her sister without question, _but_ -

I was a Lee first. My parents defined me, as they often do. Just because they adopted me, it didn't make them less real. Papa was even my teacher, growing up. Part of the A.E.S homeschool program required an Earth Literature module, and we read _Frankenstein_ together in a week. Neither of us liked it much, but I found myself reading the novel again during a long flight, and thinking: “of course.”

It clicked into place. _We shall be monsters, cut off from all the world_. I was created to be a Lawson, and had my childhood protected by Cerberus. It didn’t matter if I never wanted it, or was kept in the dark. If Kellam knew about my past, if my friends knew, if my neighbours knew- I wouldn’t be the nice human girl in 6a anymore, I would be the Cerberus whore.

No one wanted the daughter of Sanctuary helping refugees. Cerberus caused so much pain and death, and yet here I was in my fancy Upper Wards apartment hiding from-

“How long have you been up?” I didn’t even hear Kolyat move out of bed, caught in the act of drowning in my thoughts. The gala’s plans scattered around me like spotlights, and I shrugged at him. “Ori. It’s late.”

“I know.” He sat down beside me on the floor, the only clean space I had. “You should be sleeping.”

Kolyat wrapped his arms around his knees, dressed only in the underwear he slept in. “I heard you counting again. You’ve not done that in a while.”

I knew drell had better hearing than humans, but sometimes I wondered if his sensitivity to my moving around was only amplified by a cop’s suspicion of everything. “Only five this time.”

“‘Mirror. Brush. Shower. Weird drell toothpaste. Nail polish.’ And it is not weird, thank you. I pay enough to have it imported.”

“Tastes horrible. No idea how you put that in your mouth.”

It was a familiar teasing he chose to ignore, but he still chuffed in amusement. “Who’s the ‘bastard man’ this time, and what did they do?”

So he heard that, too. I could feel the stare of a detective assessing the situation, not a concerned boyfriend.

I couldn’t tell him about the nightmare. I couldn’t cope with his peculiar brand of comfort, I knew what he would say. That it was just the stress of the upcoming gala; that my mind was playing tricks on me. That -most of all- I should be in bed.

“Someone’s hustling into my turf, right in the middle of a deal,” I told him. “The drop off is tomorrow.”

“ _Ori_.”

“Fine, it’s not a drug deal.” Kolyat was still looking, patiently waiting for an answer. “The same political nonsense as last time. A few urgent emails I had to deal with, and my pedicure. Nothing you have to fuss over, you have work tomorrow, too.”

“Hmm.” Kol didn’t know much about the Councillor muscling his politics into my party. I told him of the dignitaries and politicians that would be there, and he reacted with his usual mild disinterest. “Why are politicians interested in your feet?”

“Some are, but I’m not that kind of philanthropist,” I replied, face straight. Kol rolled his eyes anyway. “The pedicure is for me," I said. "But I do have loose ends to tie up. Going over the schedule one more time, putting out the fires that started overnight.”

“All this can only be done during your sleep cycle? Including your damn nails.” Despite his hand on my leg drawing circles on a bare leg, I got the distinct impression he was using his C-Sec interrogation methods on me.

“Yes. Any other questions? Or do I need legal aid, first?”

Kolyat hated it when I used C-Sec interrogation lingo. Sometimes I would deliberately get it wrong, too- if only for the delicious bristle of his scales. “Not for a polite discussion,” he replied, playing along this time. “You’re free to go whenever you like. Though if you head back to bed, even better.”

“Threat or promise?”

He chuffed again but squeezed my knee all the same. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

“Obviously, you’re easily bribed.” I leaned in to kiss him, and I could still taste the lingering soap of the toothpaste I mocked him for. He hated the mint of mine, but we both learnt to cope with the difference.

“Only from you.” He tried to roll with the jab, but even the joke was enough to unsettle him. Kolyat’s work was a subject of silence between us both, no matter how much I talked about mine.

Now was not the time for Kolyat’s issues. “No bed for me yet, sorry. I still need to-“

It was not the answer he wanted. I was pulled into his arms in an awkward side hold, my ear against the thrum in his chest. “You need rest. Stims only do so much, and you’ll be better off facing tomorrow with a few more hours of sleep.”

His lips were cooler than mine when I found them, but they were always warm after I was done. “I know,” I told him, pulling away. “I can’t. If I lie down all I’m going to do is stare at the ceiling, so I may as well do something.”

I couldn't keep out a whine of frustration, to my annoyance. Kolyat pushed my hair over an ear, a resigned sigh at the reply. “Can I do anything to help?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to shoo him off. “I don’t know. Paint my nails.” I was only half-joking, but I rather liked the idea of him doing it.

I assumed Kolyat would apply the same exactness to the task as he did cleaning his gun or fixing dinner, but all I got was baffled confusion. “A perfectly sound activity for three in the morning.”

”I can’t go work with naked toes. What do you take me for?”

" _Ori._ " He had enough of humouring me.. “And all this is needed too.” Kolyat waved at the mess of hovering monitors, a hand cutting through a floor plan.

“Yes, ust the usual VIP hand holding before it all starts. I need to email this Matriarch back now, if you don't mind. She’s insistent on a better seat, and doesn’t quite understand the concept of the gala.”

“And then you’re going back to bed.”

“Says who?” He was one more demand away from all nighter fuelled by spite. “These toes aren’t going to paint themselves, you know.”

I wiggled them over his, and he squeezed them gently. “I’ll only make a mess of it.” I could see he was weighing up what to argue next. The gloom of the holo screens shined against his scales before Kolyat sighed in defeat again. “I can wait with you,” he said.

"You really should be in bed, pointless both of us not sleeping. This won’t take long, I promise.”

He chuffed once in reply, quiet in his disbelief. "Then it is no hardship to keep you company."

I was halfway through the email when I realised he was reading over my shoulder. “What’s more popular on Thessia anyway, Janaris Day or Onis Day?” I asked, deliberately staring back. “Since you’re so enthused to help.”

“For your email?”

“No, for the Citadel Times crossword.”

I was nudged with a shoulder. Kolyat picked up the nail polish machine to amuse himself with, poking at the settings with a bored hand. “Say it’s like Janiris Day without the exposed bosoms,” he said, fiddling with the colour wheel. “Even the old ones would understand that.”

I was mostly sure he was joking. “I don’t think I can type bosom in an official work email.”

The brief twitch of his lips gave him away. “Use chest, then.”

“I’ll ask the cat next time, maybe I’ll get more sense.”

“She’s not here to put up with your nonsense.”

I sent my mail and stretched my arms until something clicked. Kolyat put the nail polish machine between us, scowling at the gala layout on the monitor in front of him.

He still refused to move, watching as I got on with the task of painting my first toe in a gentle pink. “You want me to do yours too?” I asked, exasperated at his silent staring. “I can if you ask nicely.”

“Maybe I do. I wear polish too, you know.”

We had been together long enough for me to doubt that. I barely saw Kolyat wear any hint of cosmetics, apart from the oil he occasionally buffed his scales with. “What colour?”

“Depends on the occasion. Police work ruins it, so I don’t bother.”

It wasn’t that it was unlikely that he gave himself a manicure, but the image of my serious boyfriend painting his own nails was enough to make me smile.

“What?” he said, touching the dimple of my cheek. “I had lacquer on when we met.”

“But you wore gloves,” I said. Or did he? No, he took them off at some point, I’m sure of it. “Oh.”

Kolyat chuckled, and I half-expected a reply about the fragility of human memory. “They were a plain brown, actually.”

“Your nails are already brown. Well, Whitish-beige. Such a brave choice of colour.”

“As opposed to the pink you chose?” he said, tapping a recently painted toe. “Stop being contradictory for the sake of it.”

“Oh, contradictory. Big word, little use.”

This was one of our more familiar games. Pointless words said for the sake of them, there to annoy the translators. I often sounded like an idiot choking on a thesaurus when I started, but it was fun; especially when an innocent use of _borscht_ caused his translator to stutter.

“Coming from you, orishen, I’m flattered.”

“That I called you little?”

He didn’t need a xeno-relations class to have that particular barb translated, human-drell biology had a similar enough overlap.

“Small things please small minds, or so I’m told,” Kolyat replied, too smug for his own good. “And I know I please you, so you can stop with that. Your memory is not as fragile as I thought.”

Even when we teased each other, Kolyat was still blunt. “You can make the tea instead,” I replied.

He put a hand to his chest. "Ever your lackey," he replied, voice dripping in sarcasm. “You're only getting water.” He stood up with a sigh, and headed to my tiny kitchen. 

I watched his well-formed ass bounce its way to to my tiny kitchen before I finished my pedicure. I was done by the time he came back, a small cup of sleep-aid tea in his hands.

We both sat in silence surrounded by the holos of the guest list, and I poked away at the drying polish to see if it was set. ”What do you think?” I asked, wiggling my toes for him to see.

“Very pink.” Kolyat stared into nothing. I knew he was tired, blinking too many times to hide it now.

“You should be in bed,” I told him.

“So should you,” he said, tugging my ear once. “Finish your tea and we can go together.”

The weight of tomorrow rolled over my stomach, not yet. I had to-

I had to-

“I _can’t_ ,” I told him, out of excuses.

Kolyat looked at me instead of nagging, trying to work out what to say. “How about you paint my nails?” he asked, after an unreadable pause. “Apparently it’s a perfectly sensible activity for the small hours of the morning. Or so I’m told.”

Out of all the things he could have replied, a request for a manicure was not what I expected. “In what, nail colour?” I asked.

I looked at him this time, unsure if he was joking again. “I’m wearing black.” Kol cleared his throat. “For your gala, I mean. You can trial a colour you think would be suitable.”

The thought of his formal wear alone made me sigh inwardly. It would be off the rack, prefabricated and awful. “With a blue shirt?” I said, teasing him. Kolyat always wore blue, even off duty.

“No. Grey.”

“Oh.” Fashion was not a God in his pantheon, as much as I wanted it to be. “I suppose you can’t go wrong with the basics.”

“Exactly. Make sure you’re neat.”

Before I could defend my technique he shoved his hands out in front of me, a clear insistence I get on with it. “Rude.” Despite his demand, I set the polish machine to a plain black anyway. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I please small minds.” His voice was low, and I could always hear the thrum of his vocals when he used his lower register, the lines of his throat moving as he did. “You do this, and then we can go back to bed. Does that sound like a deal? You’re not a VI, orishen.”

If he were a cat, he would be purring. Fish used similar manipulation techniques, too. “Oh, fine,” I replied.

I held his fingers in my palm before I painted them. There was something always so intimate about hands; the act of holding them crossed a social barrier, no matter who you were. So many stories told over the faintest touch, but I was already familiar with his. I always thought Kolyat’s palm was a map to something, little dark spots lost in the blue-green of his skin, an archipelago of scales to follow.

“I used to do this for my mother,” I said, tracing a neat nail of his with one of my own. “My father let me paint his too, but I don’t think he liked it as much. Let me do whatever I wanted, though.”

“Good memories,” he said, watching me work. His nails were narrower in size to mine, but a thicker keratin. Different, but similar; alien, but Kolyat.

“I remember I painted a sunrise on his thumb once, or tried to. He told me it was lovely all the same.”

“Sunshine.” He knew what the word meant to me. A pet name from my father, no one called me it anymore.

“Not really, more a blobby mess. I tried, though.”

Kolyat was careful with his replies and laid them out slowly. “Hang onto the decent memories that pass.”

“I do.” Miranda may have plastered over the cracks, but I knew they were still there.

“You’re stressed,” he said, stating the obvious. Kolyat was still looking at our hands.

I focused on that archipelago again, drawing a line from one island to the other with a finger of my own. “I’ll tell you your future,” I said. “Do drell tell fortunes in the palms of hands too? Papa always used to pretend he could read mine, and make up ridiculous lies.”

I looked up to see him watching me, like he always did. He was still tired, the inner lining of his lids blinking more than they should. “The markings of your face signal your virtue to Arashu,” he said, a dull recount from somewhere. “I never paid attention to the stories.”

Kolyat was awake because I was, because my anxiety wouldn’t let us sleep. “Go back to bed,” I told him. “I’ll be there soon.”

A familiar frown pinched his brow, though this time I wondered if he was acting. “No. Finish your job, we had a deal. This hand needs to match.”

“Bossy gets you the couch.”

“I would have to clean the trash off it first,” he said. “Your apartment is chaos.”

“Rude.” He was nudged for the slight, not that I could push him over. “It’s homely.”

“It’s a mess.” I knew what he was doing with the nail painting and hand holding, a harmless distraction to soothe my anxiety. Why was I so defensive in the first place? We were intimate in many ways, but I still had troubles telling him things.

Kolyat wasn’t going to move, no matter what I said. I was warmed by the fact he was content to stay awake, going nowhere fast. He was worth looking at, even by the dull blue glow of my open terminals. Kol always told me he was plain, a drell that never would stand out- but I could always find him, no matter where we were.

“Bay of Biscay in teal,” I said, leaning forward to kiss the offending mark on his face. “Right here. Kind of, sort of.”

He leaned back to frown at me again. “You really need sleep.”

“I mean your markings. This one here,” I said, poking at it this time. “Is it a signal to Arashu?”

“No. Mine signal that I am… pious. My uncle found it amusing.”

_“Pious.”_

My shoulders shook at the thought, and of course he noticed. “Go on, laugh. I know you want to.”

How could I not? “Yours is a pious soul, Sere Thricefuck. I’m sure you have devout depths I’ve never seen,” I said, in between the snorting.

“Blind devotion to the Sea will get you nowhere. The Depths favour no one but the bottom feeders.”

This time the frown was real. Water was his purgatory, and it always would be. Odd that he feared the stuff I loved, but I didn’t grow up thinking of it as a constant death symbol battering away at my subconscious.

I nudged us away from the sea, before he drowned in it.

“I used to read the maps a lot when I was young. It’s what you do when you’re a strange home-schooled kid with no friends. Your markings remind me of a place I saw in them, that’s all- the Bay of Biscay. This part is Spain,” I said, tracing a line across his cheek. “And that must be France. I’ve not been to either.”

The life of an immigrant. To stare at your home planet, and it feel as foreign to you as a map of Palaven. And I wasn’t a colonist or even a spacer, not really. I grew up in the salarian immigrant quarters of Illium surrounded by newly monied asari, a human face lost in the crowd.

I may have recognised the patterns of Earth, but it was never a place I called home. “Your wines,” he said, blinking at a memory that came and went at the mention. Sometimes I could tell, especially when he looked away to stare at nothing. “We’ve had a lot from that region. France.”

The migrant in me was ruffled. “They’re not all from Earth, some are from the colonies too.”

“We drink whatever you get sent,” he said. “From that wine club of yours. It piles up, your doorman says. He has to sign for it. You have enough already.”

I had finished his nails moments ago, but in the quiet, I missed a reason to touch him. I flopped over his legs and made a pillow of his thighs, and watched as he examined my manicure skills with all the finesse of flipping over a ration packet to check the ingredients. “I see England, I see France,” I said, looking up at him.

“Good for you.”

“I see Kolyat’s underpants.” With a nail of my own I flicked the band of his tight sleep shorts, and he made a delightful hissing noise in reaction.

That was it, that was the point of no return. It was hard for him to gather up some dignity with me still lodged in his lap, but he tried. “We’re done here. Bed.”

“Promises, promises.”

My head was just at the right height if I really wanted to distract him, still in easy reach. Another intimate task to hand I suppose, but Kolyat lifted me up before I could follow the thought through, a gentle movement despite his words. “Move. Or I’ll drag you there myself.”

“I knew it. First the foot fetish, now the sadism. I know your sort.”

“Do you, now?” The sheets were still warm when we got in, and though it was dark I could just about make out the features of his face, his eyes already closed. “Sleep, or try to.”

“Yes, _sere_.”

“Ori.”

“Oh, fine.”

I tried to, truly I did. The bedroom ceiling was still the same, no matter how much I stared at it. I could slip out of the covers again to deal with more emails from panicked diplomats, or I could try to work out what to do about Gellix.

What could I even do against the Alliance partnership anyway? I was outvoted and under ranked. Any decisions Kellam made went over my head.

“Orishen,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow. Apparently, he couldn’t sleep if I was still awake. “If you talk to me, perhaps I can help.”

Kolyat dealt with politics at his work, but I’m not sure if they were planet-sized. “Can you arrest a planet?” I asked. “Until my gala is over, anyway.”

He exhaled before speaking. Not quite a sigh, but close enough. Kolyat cracked open an eye, his second eyelid slow in dragging itself over to focus on me. “Doesn’t come under my jurisdiction.”

“Worth a shot.”

The covers were pulled down from his head, and I turned to face him. “Gellix?”

I never outright mentioned the place to Kolyat, but he still worked it out. “How did you know?”

“I have my ways,” he said, meaning he snooped at my monitors. “Why is it so important for your gala?”

“Because the universe says so.” There was only so much I could deflect, and I was exhausted from hiding it. How large was Gellix anyway? Smaller than Kahje, larger than Chasca. About two-thirds of Earth’s mass, give or take. “It’s a garden world up for sale by the Hierarchy. Has a rich equator perfect for levo production, apparently.”

He blinked again. Kolyat might’ve brushed off the significance of the VIPs at my event, but he could put two and two together- he was still a detective. “And your gala just so happens to have invited a large number of high ranking officials in attendance.”

“It isn’t about the Chasca colony anymore. It’s about the Council squabbling over resources, and they’re using the gala to do it.”

“Does it matter that they have?” he asked. “For you, I mean. Money is being raised for your work anyway, the Gellix issue is unrelated to Kellam Industries.”

In the quiet of the room, my voice was louder than I thought. “But we’ve chosen a side. And I’m expected to agree.”

That made him sit up. “Something has happened.”

I did not answer him right away and rubbed my face. “There was a vote last week,” I said. My eyes were too dry for tears. “We’re a democracy and do that sort of thing. Kellam is now a supporter of the Alliance owning the planet first. It all happened so suddenly, I don’t like that we are deciding the fate of feeding millions in a week.”

“It’s one vacant planet,” he said. “There are more.”

There really wasn’t, but I let it go. “Not like this. Gellix is owned by turians, and my turian boss thinks humans should have it.” I said the word like I wasn’t one. Of course, I knew what I was, I owned mirrors. “We would do their work, too. They want Kellam to build a colony there, it was decided today.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. _Ah_. And I voted no to the partnership. I thought we should have more time to decide,” I said. I didn’t want to look him in the eye and buried my head into the pillow. “I’m a terrible human. But it felt like we were strong-armed into it, that there was no choice. Something like this is not a decision to make in just two weeks of meetings.”

“What happens now?”

“I don’t know, that’s the frightening thing- no one does. Half the board is in favour of the partnership,” I said. “But the other half walked out today in protest, and two resigned on the spot at the decision. We’re a charity for all, not the few.”

I could see Kolyat was thinking, but I was still pulled into a tight hug. “You’ve been carrying this burden around all week.”

“I don’t know if I should quit too,” I said, blurting out my answer. It was a stone off my chest to talk, but I was cautious of his opinion. Kolyat could be fatalistic over events he felt he had no control over, and this was one of them.

He exhaled first, carefully picking his words again. “Wait until your colony is built, and your gala is over, at least. You’ve worked hard on them both- you deserve to see it in action.”

I was beginning to feel tired, but I knew I had to crawl out of bed in three hours. What was the point of being in it in the first place? ”There’s talk of more races joining the partnership, a krogan clan or two- could be gossip. Gellix used to belong to them before the Rebellions, fitting they return. I haven’t had the time to research it, too focused on running orders and canapes.”

“Krogans, humans, and turians. I see.”

I snorted, of course he would pick up on that. “Don’t forget the volus, the Protectorate is involved in negotiations too. But, yes- the political new guard stick together.”

Kolyat looked away. He was lost in thought or a memory- I didn’t know which. “Gellix is in outer Council space,” he said. “If you were to divide the cluster into population alone, asari dominate.”

“I have a feeling the turians are making them work for it,” I said. “They’re sending an official with human sympathies.” At his brow raise, I smiled. “He’s married to one, I looked him up on the extranet. He’s like you and has a thing for furheads.”

“One furhead, thank you.”

“Keep it that way.” I was too tired to disagree with anything else. I knew he looked at other human women too, being with me didn't render him blind.

In the silence after I yawned, and he pinched my chin so I could look at him. “It’s now 4am. Sleep, if only for a few hours. There’s nothing you can do now.”

“I can do plenty.” I could refuse the entry of politicians fighting like children over a planet. I could give everyone food poisoning, even beg Shepard to turn up this time- maybe release live varren into the hotel lobby. “All of it stupid. But I will run the gala for them; after it’s done, I need to rethink my position at Kellam. I’m not happy.”

“I understand,” he said, kissing my brow. I never knew if what he did was a Kolyat thing or a drell thing, but he was fond of brow kisses, was Kolyat. Right in the centre of my forehead, a lingering feeling even after his lips left. “I have your back.”

“Good, arrest them all. Every last one of them.”

“I would if I could,” he replied. “They might have outstanding priors, you never know. But perhaps we should find some sleep first.”

For once I listened, exhaustion beating anxiety into submission. Tomorrow would come in two hours, and I would face it head on, armed only in a tailored dress and heels.

_Smile like you mean it, sunshine._


	2. IM Interlude: Past And Present Tense

* * *

MATRIARCH KAEREN  


* * *

#### Lkenna23: [LOGIN][ONLINE]  
Orlee67: [LOGIN][ONLINE]

Lkenna23:  
11:12:
    Hello. I would like to talk to whoever is in charge of seating arrangements please
    What I’ve been given isn’t good enough. I’ve emailed some human two days ago and was given a non answer

Orlee67:  
11:14: 
    Hey there, you’re talking to Ori- I remember your email. How can I help you, Matriarch Kaeren?
_> Orlee67 has changed their name to Oriana Lee, Kellam Industries_

Lkenna23:  
11:15:
    I better not be talking to a VI, I need a real person please

Oriana Lee, Kellam Industries:  
11:15:
    Definitely talking to a human, and certified real person. This is my personal omni-tool number you’re messaging.

Lkenna23:  
11:16: 
    I thought Kellam was asari run?

Oriana Lee, Kellam Industries:  
11:16:
    The original founder was an asari, but Matriarch Keliasira sadly passed on a hundred years ago. We’ve always been a multi-species organisation, however. How can I help you with the tickets?

Lkenna23:  
11:18:
    They have no seating numbers. I don’t know where I’m sitting. 

Oriana Lee, Kellam Industries:  
11:18:
    That’s correct. While there are tables at the event, it’s more of a festival than a traditional sit down dinner. Think of it like Janiris Day! There's games, many kinds of food stalls and live music. Rest assured you will have somewhere to sit when you eat, we’ve put aside seating for everyone.

Lkenna23:  
11:20:
    Yes, yes. You’ve mentioned all this in your email. Just give me a table. I don't see why I have to keep on asking this. 

Oriana Lee, Kellam Industries:  
11:20: 
    You know what, Matriarch Kaeren? Just for you, I’ll give you your own table. And I'll personally lead you to it when you turn up. How about that? 

Lkenna23:  
11:24 
    See, why was that so hard? 

#### Lkenna23: [LOGIN][OFFLINE]  
Orlee67: [LOGIN][OFFLINE]

* * *

LAWBRINGER54, aka Miranda Lawson

* * *

#### Lawbringer54: [LOGIN][ONLINE]  
Orlee67: [LOGIN][ONLINE]

Lawbringer54:  
13:45:
     Ori.

Orlee67:  
13:45
    Randa? Is this you?

Lawbringer54:  
13:46:
     Yes. I've made sure everything is secure my end, we are free to talk.

Orlee67:  
13:46
    I'm sorry, "lawbringer?" That's new. 

Lawbringer54:  
13:46:
     I need an alias.

Orlee67:  
13:46:
     Right. Lawbringer, though? LOL 

Lawbringer54:  
13:47:
  
     It’s just a name. How is your job?

Orlee67:  
13:47:
     It’s going great, Officer Lawbringer! Are you a vigilante again, can i be I your sidekick? I will if we have matching catsuits, i know you got a factory full of them.
_> Orlee67 has changed their name to OfficerKickass69_

Lawbringer54:  
13:48:
    Let me guess, you want yours in purple.

OfficerKickass69:  
13:48:
    !!! is that a read? I'm so proud :,) How can i resist such a DEAL? Wipe clean and bulletproof, sign me up

Lawbringer54:  
13:48:
    It's never let me down, no.

OfficerKickass69:  
13:49:
    I mean what else is there to wear

Lawbringer54:  
13:49:
    I can handle my own wardrobe, thank you. I see your project with Kellam has been funded, but the refugee situation is worrying. I know you’re involved.

OfficerKickass69:  
13:49:
    that’s not my department. All I have to do is chase up supplies, wastewater planning, and throw a party, nothing I can’t handle. 

Lawbringer54:  
13:49:
    You sure?

OfficerKickass69:  
13:50 
    I am not in the firing line for anything, don’t worry. brb being yelled at for something 

#### OfficerKickass69 has set their status to [AWAY]

Lawbringer54:  
13:52
    Are you there?

Lawbringer54:  
13:54
    Ori?

#### OfficerKickass69 has set their status to [ONLINE]

OfficerKickass69:  
13:55:
    sorrysorry yea i am omw back to office esxaping meeting

Lawbringer54:  
13:56:
    You’re dealing with the Korlach Company for the construction work? For your colony.
    Ori?

OfficerKickass69:  
13:56:
    How did you know that? 

Lawbringer54:  
13:59: 
    Korlach has no strong ties to Tuchanka, but has been reaching out to his old clan for a possible reconnection. Weak biotic, but enough to move boxes- or so he says, there's been reports he hides his true abilities. Left centuries ago to start his own construction company. His (asari) bondmate owns half of Xercix, and have full ownership of Retni, a pipe manufacturer. No troubles with the law, not even a speeding ticket. Strong interest in biotiball. Had his first daughter at 542; his second is on record as his, but is in fact his grandchild. His daughter had a Maiden pregnancy at 77, everything has been covered up.
    Ori?

OfficerKickass:  
14:00
    All information I already know, won't use it tho 
_> OfficerKickass69 has changed their name to Ori_

Lawbringer54:  
14:00:
    I’m sorry, I’m just trying to help.

Ori:  
14:01:
    You don’t have to, it’s fine. How’s it going for you? where are you, even?? 

Lawbringer54:  
14:02:
    Classified. You understand.

Ori:  
14:02:
    Are you at your secret hideout?Ooooh. 

Lawbringer54:  
14:03:
    It’s an old friend. You understand why it’s classified.

Ori:  
14:03: 
    Oh. Shepard, then 

Lawbringer54:  
14:04:
    It'll be better If I don't say.

Ori:  
14:05: 
     Didn't know you liked girls

Lawbringer54:  
14:05:
    It’s not like that, just very good friends.

Ori:  
14:05:
     O pleez. I don’t blame you even if it was, far from judging. Are you both saving the universe again? How is she, anyway? 

Lawbringer54:  
14:06: 
    Good days, bad days. Today is a good day.

Ori:  
14:06:
     Hope it gets better for her. I’ve been sending out invites for work stuff. sometimes she writes back. I send them to you, too.

Lawbringer54:  
14:06:
    I know, I’m sorry. Dangerous people still want me dead. I don’t want to bring that to your work.

Ori:  
14:06: 
    It’s fine all good 

Lawbringer54:  
14:07: 
     Shepard sends well wishes to you both. I assume you’re still with Krios? 

Ori:  
14:07:
    thats sweet, I’m very flattered she’s asked after me.

Lawbringer54:  
14:07:
     Are you still with Krios? 

Ori:  
14:08:
    yea

Lawbringer54:  
14:08:
     Hardly a romantic answer. But good.

Ori:  
14:08:
    k

Lawbringer54:  
14:08: 
     You’ve been with him a while now. 

Ori:  
14:09: 
     Half a year, ish? maybe more, idk

Lawbringer54:  
14:09: 
     Do you love him?

Ori:  
14:09: 
     Would it even matter to you what i say?

Lawbringer54:  
14:09: 
     It's your life.

Ori:  
14:11: 
     thank u for the reminder big sis!! Kolyat is actually one of my many lovers, it’s now a bioball team! I’m also dating that nice salarian who gives me extra tea at the tram kiosk. Honestly!!! I’m struggling keeping up with them all!!!

Lawbringer54:  
14:11: 
    Are you serious?

Ori:  
14:11: 
     what do u think

Lawbringer54:  
14:13: 
     I don’t mean it to be an investigation. Don’t waste your time on anything but happiness, you deserve nothing less. Life it too short for mediocre boyfriends, even if they seem exciting to begin with. Sunk cost fallacy extends itself to relationships too.

Ori:  
14:13: 
     k

Ori:  
14:13: 
    have u been reading Dear Dinah again? Did you read last weeks letter, the one about the maiden who likes to sleep naked?

Lawbringer54:  
14:14: 
     I haven’t. I don’t mean to interfere, but I will if he hurts you. 

Ori:  
14:15: 
     So don’t interfere then. I’m happy.

Lawbringer54:  
14:15: 
     I won’t say I understand, seemed dull when I met him. Hardly a bad boy anymore. 

Ori:  
14:15: 
     lol that says more about about your taste in men than mine

Lawbringer54:  
14:16: 
     Well, yes. If I like them, that’s usually a red flag by itself. But don’t think for one moment he’s off the hook, though. I am still your big sister, I’m meant to judge. 

Ori:  
14:16: 
    that reminds me. can’t wait for you to meet the Fish, that’s a show down I need to see.

Lawbringer54:  
14:16: 
     I don't understand?

Ori:  
14:17: 
    also say thank you to Shepard for her party again, it’s her fault I met Kolyat anyway.

Lawbringer54:  
14:17: 
    She’ll be insufferably pleased with herself. She also says she “called it.” Was there a particular reason you called me earlier?

Ori:  
14:18: 
    No reason, just to bitch about my day. I have to get back to work now, PLEEZ email dates when you’re free? Dinner sounds fun. We’ll think of something, I know you have brought some property here.

Lawbringer54:  
14:18: 
    Yes. I’d love to. No problem.

Ori:  
14:18: 
    I really got 2 go
    byeeeeee

#### Ori has set their status to [DO NOT DISTURB]

Lawbringer54:  
14:19: 
    It's always good to speak to you.

#### Orlee67 is currently unavailable right now. Please reach them by email: O.Lee@kellamindustries.org

#### Lawbringer54: [LOGIN][OFFLINE]  
Orlee67: [LOGIN][OFFLINE]

* * *

DANNER GOSSIMAH

* * *

#### DeeMGoss1: [LOGIN][ONLINE]  
Orlee67: [LOGIN][AWAY]

DeeMGoss1:  
01:41:
    Ori lol it’s me I got your ‘tool number through mom she says you’re on the citadel now

#### Orlee67 has set their status to: [DO NOT DISTURB] 

DeeMGoss1:  
01:43
    all good. it's Danner btw. 

#### Orlee67 is currently unavailable right now. Please reach them by email: O.Lee@kellamindustries.org

DeeMGoss1:  
01:44:
    how u been
_> DeeMGoss1 has changed their name to DeeMan ___
__     yeeeeeeeeeee
__

__

#### Orlee67 is currently unavailable right now. Please reach them by email: O.Lee@kellamindustries.org

DeeMan:  
01:46:
    shit sorry

#### Orlee67 has set their status to: [ONLINE] 

DeeMan:  
02:13:
    u there?

DeeMan:  
02:13:
     hey :) been a while, how are you?
     you wanna get drinks? I’m at the Derkat Hotel on Bachjret Ward. You’re on Zakera, mom says. Cool bars and shit there

DeeMan:  
02:14:
    we can catch up

DeeMan:  
02:19:
    You've changed! For the better holy shit

DeeMan:  
02:21:
    sorry lol. I’m looking at my old Citadel Connection profile haha you’re on there with the rest of the sports club. I got some vids saved if u wanna see. Man it seems like we were kids, but it was only like 5 years or something. War changed some shit.

#### Orlee67 has set their status to: [AWAY] 

DeeMan:  
02:23:
     you ignoring me lol is it payback? You never played hard to get before, had to beat you off with a stick

__

DeeMan:  
02:24:
    This is me not much has changed
_> Deeman is sending you a photo: [Me_lol.jpg]_
    _holo (without audio) sent and opened_

DeeMan:  
02:24:
    do u still have great tits?

DeeMan:  
02:24:
    i kept this
_> Deeman is sending you a photo: [Old_Ori_Vid.jpg]_
    _holo (without audio) sent and opened_

DeeMGoss1:  
02:25:
    u used to have the best I miss them. do u miss this?

DeeMan:  
02:26:
_> Deeman is sending you a photo: [The_Goods.jpg]_
    _holo (without audio) sent and opened_
DeeMan:  
02:27:
    u used to beg for it

Orlee67:  
02:28:
    I’m working. I am not interested in you or seeing badly lit vids of your penis. Shall I forward this conversation to your mother? I’m sure she and her gala friends will be thrilled, since I speak to them regularly.

DeeMan:  
02:29:
    no

Orlee67:  
02:30:
    Do not contact me again.

#### Orlee67 has set their status to [OFFLINE]

DeeMan:  
02:29:
    bitch

#### Do you wish to block this contact? [YES] [NO] 

#### This contact is no longer available to you. Do you wish to disconnect from the conversation? [YES] [NO]

* * *

KOLYAT KRIOS  


* * *

#### KKrios0: [LOGIN][AWAY]  
Orlee67: [LOGIN][ONLINE]

Kolyat:  
02:40:
    Please sleep. You are not sleeping. Come back to bed.

Ori:  
02:41
    Make me?

Kolyat:  
02:41:
    Ori.

#### Orlee67 has set their status to [AWAY]

#### KKrios0 has set their status to [OFFLINE]

Ori:  
07:45:
_Ori is sending a photo: [fish_spotting.png]_
    _holo (without audio) sent and opened_
    this water stain looks like FISH
    at least I hope it’s a water stain. Who knows with the lido changing rooms!!!

#### Kolyat has set their status to [ONLINE]

Kolyat:  
07:46:
    That's nice. Good swim?

Ori:  
07:46
    always. u awake now?

Kolyat:  
07:46:
    Just about. It's my day off, you know this.

Ori:  
07:47
    that means u going bak to sleep soon. some of us have to work to do!! so rude

Kolyat:  
07:47:
    Bed is still very comfortable, by the way.

Ori:  
07:47
    r u d e. you in bed with the real thing? Bet the ma'am took my warm spot. show me the GOODS

Kolyat:  
07:47:
    She's by my feet actually, and awake. You want me to waste my data on a cat photo?

Ori:  
07:48
    no. on your butt..

Kolyat:  
07:48:
    Fine.

Ori:  
07:48
    !!! bongo time

Kolyat:  
07:49:
_Kolyat is sending a photo: [fish_stare.png]_
    _holo (without audio) sent and opened_
    There. Happy?

Ori:  
07:48
    yeah! look at that chunky Fish! nearly at work gotta go, Speak to u later, will drop in after xxxxxx

Kolyat:  
07:48:
    Have an excellent day.

#### Oriana has set their status to [AWAY]

#### Kolyat has set their status to [OFFLINE]

#### Do you wish to disconnect from the conversation? [YES] [NO]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the CSS for the message layout works on whatever device you're reading this on. Note: these messages take place two days after the first chapter.


	3. Sunken Ships

**Kellam Industries, Mid Wards. 11:12am.**

The day was already a wash when the news of his death came.

It was something I thought I had dealt with already. Shoved in storage away from my sight, neatly labelled as the forgotten baggage it should be. I left him and most of the memories of what we had in Bekenstein, and both remained far from my mind when I watched another trauma at work unfold.

Part of our aid work was grounded. We had no space for the sudden looming of the press on our doorstep; the glass and concrete atrium of our building was now a makeshift conference room, groups of suited reporters huddled together as they waited for an official statement.

They looked impatient, but so were we. The news of _Athame’s Grace_ and her forced docking took over all our departments, my engineering and gala projects included. Everyone at Kellam Industries was drawn to the mess, a rapt audience by the windows above.

Brath shrugged next to me, all four of his eyes keen for a security breach; I’m sure he wanted one, too. “What a shit show," he said. "But not unexpected."

Heights were never my strong point, but I always forced myself to face them and look. “That your professional opinion?” I asked. Brath only grunted. “I’m rather glad we made an effort with the atrium garden now. It’s all plastic, but better than nothing. I’m sure the flowers look cheerful on camera.”

A pair of separate news teams began to set up their shots, politely distant from each other. Brath shoved his hairy brown hands into a well-cut suit, sharp teeth glinting in the light.

“Still a Pillar-damned mess,” he said, squinting as a reporter’s info drone bumbled too close to our window. “Get a shovel.”

“For what, the flowers?” That got me a crooked smile, at least. “I’ve been told to say nothing official until the press conference is over, but I keep on getting calls.”

That I was forced to watch from here was a shambles, but about normal for Kellam’s management skills. I should have been in the meeting too, considering the political circus my gala festival had become. I still had to reply to emails sent from the Council, but somehow it didn’t matter- it was only a silly party.

No one could see us peering down, but I had enough of the view. I was not the biggest fan of the windows we had, they never felt safe- no rail to hold onto. Even though I knew the building was vacuum sealed from the rest of the Citadel, even though I knew the glass could stop a krogan’s fist- my brain refused to accept it all as fact.

Instead I took a steady breath and found firmer ground, moving away from the crowd. It was safer here, I was fine. No glass-induced vertigo, but a comforting wall to lean on.

Not even Kolyat knew about my little phobia, but it only triggered on certain requirements: floor length windows; see-through flooring; a height I could quantify in my head, rather than the sprawling depth of space. I’ve still had romantic rooftop dates and meetings at Zakera’s Point, I’ve even faced the diving board at the lido. My terror was manageable and small; I just walked myself to the edge of it every now and then.

Small steps, that was all. Teka from the admin floor soon took my place at the front row, his long face pressed against the glass. I leaned my own against the cold metal of the wall, a relief at not seeing the ground so very far away from me.

“Citadel News is here!” Teka said, loud enough for me to hear the exclamation mark. He was a yellow-spotted salarian fresh from school, and in charge of the firm’s extranet socials- that was it, that’s all he did here. “Don’t recognise the reporter, some turian in a horrible dress.”

A Citadel NewsNet interview was a big deal for our charity. “Who’s in the hot seat?” I asked. It was his department that dealt with the press, even though I knew the answer. I regularly did his job on top of mine, thanks to the gala- though it didn’t work the other way.

Teka always complained when I gave him things to do on top of his extensive social refreshing. “It’s Dalatrass Vern,” he said, without turning around. “She looks scary even when she smiles. Especially then.”

Brath sucked the air through his teeth, a batarian whistle of disapproval. “She’s not happy. Pulled out of retirement for this,” he replied. “Sorted the security detail for that, was as dull as you think.”

It was hard to peer around two meters of salarian, especially one as excitable as Teka. “Looks like the Alliance News are here too, and a couple of local Zakera reporters,” he said. “Something asari has also turned up- _pah_. Toxic materials, they said. Honestly, what a reach.”

“One that worked,” Brath replied, jamming a toothpick in his mouth. “We’re grounded. If you’ll need me, I’ll be patrolling. Called in a few of my team to help with the building, just in case a journo gets nosy. We’re on lock down, as of now. No more in and outs.”

I finally left the circus for my own pile of work, shaking my omni-tool open with a flick. My wrist was a vibrating noise of new emails to respond to, and I needed my terminal in engineering to deal with it.

I had my own office now- well, almost. I had my own storage room for the gala prep, if only to keep everything contained. It was given a name, as engineers love an oxymoron: _The Glitter Pit_ , which of course stuck around long enough for a fabricated sign to magically appear above my door.

The floor wasn’t as quiet as I thought. I was on the third placating message when Sorel knocked on the wall outside, even though the door was open. Despite desperately trying to play the turian tech bro he wanted so hard to be, Sorel was still an engineering nerd with calibration tools strapped to his belt, and somehow the Glitter Pit terrified him.

He never crossed the threshold. Instead Sorrel shoved his hands under his armpits and leaned against the frame, eyeing an old Earth carnival poster nervously. “So, uh. Front desk called me to yell at you,” he said. “You’re not picking up.”

“Lines were busy.” I didn’t look up from my work. “Anything else?”

“C-Sec is downstairs asking for an Ori Lee, specifically. Have you been naughty?” he asked, though I could tell he was desperate to know why.

“That depends on who does the asking. Not you, though.”

That made him twitch, tan-coloured mandibles drooping in disappointment. “Aaw, Ori.”

“It’s just a casual visit,” I replied, waving him off. “I know who it is.”

At least, I thought I did.

Sorel visibly relaxed at my reply. “When this gala shit is over, our floor is going to be so quiet,” he said, take a little step back. “Have you uh, gone over the hydraulic system yet? The contractor fucked up again, dug the hole too deep this time.”

He meant the construction work for Chasca, the colony project we shared. I made a sound similar to a Citadel tram powering down, a sad little whine I had no idea I could make. “I suppose we should thank them. They let us know it happened, instead of a botch job to cover it up. Always a silver lining.”

“Human idioms make no sense.” Sorel chuckled, but he was still nervous; every word he had said had an _umm_ or an _uhh_ attached. “They got nothing to fill it back in with. The uh, the hole I mean. It’s not unstable, but it’s messed up the foundation. You know we’re building on bedrock.”

He shifted on his feet and stared at his toes, and I knew where the conversation was going. Sorel was a competent geotechnical engineer, good at the material testing and environmental studies that made up a third of his job. He utterly failed at the remaining fraction, and it was up to me to deal with the bulk of the shifty contractors, site meetings, and constant emails- you know, the endless communication work always needed for a project.

My official job was only meant to be as an engineer for the wastewater treatment of colonies, not the entire construction management of them. This was my life right now; juggling scaffolding contractors and stroppy gala socialites from the bowels of the Glitter Pit, a different hat worn each time.

Funnily enough, both were dealt with the same way, too. Kindness and a compliment sandwich had yet to fail me, and worked both on grumpy krogan construction workers who called me _baby girl_ , and bored Matriarchs fussy about the drinks menu.

“I’ll deal with it,” I replied, giving Sorel exactly what he wanted to hear. ”But you’re helping me deal with the fallout, if we can’t fill it back in.”

That perked Sorel right up. “I have something that might work. You should probably deal with the front desk though, C-Sec made them nervous. What with the whole press thing outside.”

I resisted the urge to sigh. “Yes Sorel. Thank you for telling me.”

I thought it was Kolyat first, annoyed he had turned up unannounced. I assumed he had heard the news too, and in his boredom wanted to see if I was holding up. Strange he wasn’t in his civvies, considering it was his day off. No uniform then, not if he could help it.

When I got to the bright, white room of our reception, it was strangers in shiny uniforms that were waiting for me. Not a familiar face in a mint-green scowl, wondering why I was late.

“Oriana Lee?” They were constables, one human, and one turian. Both stood by the moving photos that framed our reception area, images of building colonies and makeshift camps, smiling vids of the refugees we helped home. Their blue uniforms made them stand out, shelled armour a little heavier than Kolyat’s scuffed stabvest and fatigues.

I had kept them waiting. I assumed it was a bored Kol and took my time getting there, and made us tea first. A quick glance at Constable Temi and Constable Vikander of the Bachjerit Wards -according to their very visible and very legitimate IDs- showed they weren’t happy about the hold up, either.

The human looked my age, the turian twice of it. They introduced themselves first, no attempt at a handshake. Constable Temi stood over me, booted turian feet close to mine.

“Is there anywhere private we could talk?” he asked. Both their faces were carefully arranged in sympathy, looking at the tea I had put on the receptionist desk.

Nothing ever good came from those words.

The receptionist was pretending to type something on his terminal, but I knew he was listening. Simon, his name was. One of the new hires we had, but always spoke to me. Curly haired and sweet, always smiling at something. “You can use my break room,” he said, eyes downcast in sympathy.

“Right. Yes,” I replied. _Kolyat._ My hand gripped my dress, my stomach in my throat. “Is he hurt?” I asked the officers, when we were alone.

It can’t be him, it was his day off. Kol would usually tell me if he was called in, but sometimes he forgot. Not that drell forgot, obviously. They could be thoughtless, and he often was.

There was a sharpness to everything I saw, prickling my skin. I was waiting for the blow to come.

I understood grief, it was my job too. We all did, with the reminder of the missing so constant. The war was over, but even on the Citadel it remained a jagged scar of memory, hastily patched over in construction. Grief clung to my back and helped me build colonies. Grief curled itself around the cowl of a stranger. Grief, so very visceral and real, stuck to us all.

It doesn’t go away. Sorry, but it doesn’t. Life gets different, that’s all. You will still get out of bed and go to the job you love. You will still kiss your boyfriend, and smile at his stupid jokes. I saw grief reflected in big, black eyes that kissed my forehead in the middle of the night, and said: _‘Orishen_ , please. Try to sleep.’

Oh god. _Not Kol, not Kol, not Kol-_

They looked at each other at my silent folding into myself. There was a shift there between them I wasn’t meant to see, my reaction was unusual. You’d think that would pull me out of the swallow of anxiety I was spiralling in, and I could rationally deal with it.

Things never worked that way.

One of the cups of the tea I brought was gently put in my hands, carried by the human officer. “I’m Constable Mikel Vikander,” he said. “This is my colleague, Constable Veranus Temi. We’re here on behalf of Bachjret’s Homicide Investigation team.”

Bachjret and not Zakera should’ve been a clue, but the spiral continued.

Vikander soothed his voice to be gentle and calm. “Ms. Lee. I have been asked to inform you that Danner Gossimer was in a serious skycar incident, and died at three thirty this morning.”

_Danner._

It was about Danner, not Kolyat. My entire body sagged in relief at the news, but then the confusion of it hit me. “Why?” I asked, but once I did I worked it out.

Constable Vikander said the words again. Pointless, since I heard it the first time. “He was in a serious skycar incident,” he said. “And died after.”

They were here because of the messages he sent, the ones I’d threatened to show his mother. That alone had to be the reason, and why they were watching every shift of reaction I made.

My day started out all right. A good swim, a nice breakfast. Then came the news of _Athame’s Grace_ , and the sudden fall out of it. Now this, of course.

Bad luck comes in threes, Papa always said.

My brain caught up, and rationality sunk in. After Danner sent me his attempt at a hook up to my omni-tool, he got into a skycar and died. I was one of the last few people he spoke to, that’s why they were here.

A lot of feelings rose, but anger seemed to float to the top. I stared at the steam of my metal mug, forcing the old, bitter resentment I felt back down my throat.

There was more to this than said, but I had nothing to feel guilty about, I was with Kolyat all night at his. It was just a message I blocked, anyone reading it would know why.

“I don’t understand,” I said, then cleared my throat. I took a sip of tea, then brought myself some time. “This is a little confusing.”

“Danner Gossimah died in a skycar crash.” Constable Temi repeated the words again for the third time, but phrased it bluntly.

“I understood that. But why are you here?” I said. “I’ve not seen Danner in years. I speak to his parents more, through work.” Guilt then, at my bile. “Oh God, his poor mother. Have you told her? She is going to be devastated.”

Should I send her flowers? Oona loved roses, I remember now. _Sorry for your loss. Your son was an asshole to me, but I always liked you._

Constable Temi had his omni-tool open, already transcribing everything I had said. Kolyat told me a little about the power of writing things down in interviews, and what it did to the general public.

You become so very aware of what you are saying.

“We have reason to believe he was in contact with you, before he died,” said his partner. I looked at the badge on his chest first: _Constable Vikander, BT-4828_. He had dark brown skin that seemed to glow under the lights of the room, blue lights of the kitchen reflecting like a halo.

“You’ve read his omni-tool messages, I assume?” I asked. Both of them remained quiet, waiting for me to explain what they already knew. “Last night, that was the last time I spoke with Danner. I told him to leave me alone. Never met him in person.”

C-Sec knew this from one look at his omni-tool data, and knew I had blocked him too. They had also seen the photo of me;I was talking to two men who knew what I looked like naked, thanks to Danner’s stupid refusal to not delete the photos I sent him when we were together.

The chair creaked as Temi leaned back in it. “Do you know of any other girlfriends he had?”

I only knew the ones he ‘accidentally’ fell into while we were dating, but I’m sure there were more. “No, but his contact list is probably endless. Ask his mother, she’ll know more than me.”

“You can’t think of any current friends or people he hangs out with?” asked Constable Vikander, leaning forward.

I found myself copying his movement out of reflex, a mirroring habit I had. I was convinced he looked at my cleavage when I did, a glance too quick for me to confirm.

“No idea. I got the impression last night’s message was something he sent to everyone he knew on the Citadel,” I said.

Another look from Temi, and more diligent tapping into his notes with talons. “I get the impression, Ms. Lee, you didn’t like him much.”

“We broke up a long time ago. Whatever I had with Danner was over before the war,” I replied. “We were in college together, that’s all. He messaged me asking to meet up last night, and I shot it down. I’m sorry he died, I’ll send flowers to his funeral. And then I’ll move on.”

Something else had happened, but they weren’t telling me what. “You haven’t met up since college, then?” Temi asked. “No email contact, nothing? No Citadel Connection messages?”

I held my head up and looked him right in the eye. “No. I thought he had died in the war, like everyone else did. We were over before then, too.”

Nothing survived on Bekenstein when the Reapers came. They didn’t even have to land, just a barrage of optics and it was all over, cities rendered to ash. Danner was on a literal pleasure barge at the time, lightyears away. Some CEO’s mad idea of escaping the Reapers, putting the ‘Best of Bekenstein’ into cryogenics, on a flimsy ship only meant for a booze cruise.

Even a glance at the idea and you could see the idiocy of it, but somehow they all survived- money always does. They lived through the Reapers, but not the Terminus system. An Eclipse squad couldn’t exactly protect their frozen wards from pirates, and they were soon overrun. Danner survived unscathed, mostly due to his parents and a bunch of other billionaires paying them off. But by then the war was over.

I hadn’t thought about Danner in awhile, not since he contacted me. Put it away in that box out of reach, out of sight and out of mind. I couldn’t even think of Bekenstein and remember the good times- my parents died there looking for me.

Constable Temi paused in his typing, and cleared his throat. “Can you think of anyone in his life that wished him harm?”

 _Plenty._ I wanted to say it out loud, but no. “Not really. I’ve not kept in touch. I know about the pirates, it was on the news.” Instead I sighed. “I’m sorry, this is all very odd for me, I know my reaction to you was strange when we met. I thought you were here for something else.”

“No one likes C-Sec turning up at their work,” Constable Vikander replied. “It’s understandable. Why did you think we were here, anyway? All that noise outside?”

He meant the gathering storm of press on Kellam’s doorstep. Vikander had given me a flimsy lead, but it felt like a trap to take it.

“In part,” I replied. I was hesitant to say more, mostly due to the constant tapping of Constable Temi’s open omni-tool. “My boyfriend. He’s like you,” I said, instantly regretting I had. “When the front desk said C-Sec asked for me, I thought it was him, actually. Then I thought something must have happened at his work if you were here instead, and that he was hurt.”

The atmosphere lifted at the mention. I was dating one of them, and was on their side now- I understood the job. “So that’s who the coffee was for,” Vikander said, smiling now. “No one brings us coffee without asking.”

“It’s tea, and I can make you some if you like,” I replied. “If you’re good.”

Constable Temi crumpled his plates in a very turian frown. “We’re not allowed to take anything from the general public,” he said.

“That’s the official C-Sec answer,” I replied. “But I know you boys can accept the occasional cup of kava. We have the good stuff here, I made sure of it.”

“Make mine a coffee and you’ll be my hero for the day,” Vikander replied.

“That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” I replied, gritting my teeth in a smile.

There was nothing else I could -or would- say on the matter, and they knew it too. I wouldn’t mention Kolyat’s name, not to them. He was always so tight-lipped about his work anyway, had told me over and over that he didn’t want C-Sec to bleed into what little privacy and free time he had.

Kolyat was bluntly honest about the border whenever I asked, that he didn’t want whatever case he was on to intrude on us. A nice lie, considering C-Sec pulled him into work all the time. I don’t think his secrecy was out of a shame of being with me, but a way for him to cope.

If I had to pick an answer why he was like this, I’d blame his father— always safe bet with Kolyat, really. He was copying what he grew up seeing, on the other side of the door. Thane Krios did the same, despite the opposing job. Both of them kept the dark of their life compartmentalised, but Kolyat was not his father. He had told me, you see. It was obviously true.

Kol might have introduced me to parts of his life away from the job- Kepral’s Fund, his cultural days, the boardgame club- but I had reached my limit of being sheltered from the rest. He even asked me things that I knew were for a case he was working on, but never explained why: _Ori, what does osmium do? Would an Upper Ward matriarch dress like a maiden? Are tattoos on humans normal, even the rich ones?_

I didn’t want to know about the daily, gruesome details of his day -well okay, maybe some of them I did- but it would be nice to finally meet the Bats and Patel and Hoorik he always mentioned in passing. I’d love to meet them, just not like _this_.

“You arresting her?” Brath said, leaning against the doorframe. He had arrived unannounced, the sliding partition of the kitchen clicking into place. Brath always liked to make an entrance, suited the little drama queen.

“Oriana Lee is helping us with our inquiries,” Vikander said, dipping a cookie I had filched from the cupboard into his coffee.

Brath pointed his jagged smile our way. “She’s a good soul, is Ori. Are you done helping the nice constables, sweet thing?” he asked.

My left eye twitched at the nickname. “We’re just having tea and a chat, there’s not really anything else I can do. Sorry I can’t help more,” I said, turning to face Vikander. “This has been a strange morning. Blast from the past, honestly.”

Perhaps I added a touch too earnest, since his eyes dipped to my chest again.

“Ms. Lee is needed upstairs, if you’re all done,” Brath replied, not missing a trick. “Off you go, boys, you can take your drinks with you. If you want her for an official statement, we’ll have a lawyer present next time. Do let us know when that is.”

C-Sec don’t like being told what to do. “We have all we need for now,” Constable Vikander said, putting his full coffee to one side. “Before we go, one quick thing. Who’s your _current_ boyfriend again? The one you thought we were. I didn’t catch his name.”

It was such a clumsy reach, I almost snorted. _See? We’re all friends here_.

“That’s right, you didn’t. I never mentioned it,” I replied, putting on my best talking-to-clients voice. Vikander smiled like a boy caught with his hand in the snack jar, but I saw the flash of annoyance too. “We all got distracted by the nice cookies.”

“You got me. It’ll help us if you did,” Vikander replied, dropping the smile. “Just to tick it off our list.”

Constable Vikander stood up slowly. This was a little push of his power, just to remind us he was the one in uniform- and here for a reason.

“I didn’t know I was on it to begin with,” I replied. “Sounds like a bunch of paperwork.”

“We’re done here,” Constable Temi said, omni-tool firmly closed. “You’re not in trouble, no one is. This is a complete non-issue, but it could be if things escalate.”

“Escalate how?” I asked, standing up to face his height. “All I did was block his messages.”

And then he died, an hour later.

“You were one of the last people he contacted. It’s surely not hard to understand why we’re here,” Vikander said. Temi gave him the tiniest of side-eyes for the blunt reply.

“I would advise you it’s in your best interest to tell us who you’re with,” Temi replied. “Your boyfriend, as you called him. I assure you no one cares about your relationship, it’s not a taboo. But regulations exist for a reason. Especially when family and loved ones are involved in a case.”

“ _Involved_ , is she?” Brath asked, before I could. “Is Ms. Lee actually accused of anything?”

“Nothing of note, no. This is only a friendly chat,” Temi said, squinting at him in suspicion. “You’re not going to cause a fuss, are you?”

“Over the fact she’s dating one of you?” Brath reached into his pocket and jammed a plastic pick in his sharp mouth, a habit he developed once he quit smoking. “I mean, there’s no accounting for taste, but it’s not a crime yet. Should be, really. If you ask me.”

“ _Brath_.” I looked at him to stop, a silent plea. I had this under my control before he came, but somehow this mess was now at full speed and heading towards a Relay.

Brath ignored my request. “Let me show you boys the way out,” he said.

Constable Vikander was faster that I thought. He moved in an eyeblink to tower over Brath, hopping over my feet to get there. “It won’t be hard to find something.”

“What, here? In a charity for refugees? Charming use of official C-Sec time,” he said, pointing at the black little orb in the corner of the room. “I installed that to work out who was nicking everyone’s lunch. Whatever you’ve said is pinging across the galaxy in our cloud system, no chance of it disappearing. But you can have a copy, if you like.”

He had pushed them too far. Brath and C-Sec was a combination I avoided; he thought they were corrupt, a useless waste of time and resources. We were good friends, but I was also the one dating a detective.

It was the one area of my life that confused him. Brath assumed Kolyat was a novelty fling at first, and once it lasted longer than a couple of months, hinted I was only keeping him around as a contact to lean on. That was something I slapped down the moment he even thought about it, but his unconcealed contempt was now an issue.

There were two very annoyed officers bristling at the push he had made, shrinking the breakroom of space. I would’ve walked from here with no one being the wiser of anything, but now I had to give them another cookie to play with.

“Detective Kolyat Krios,” I said, smoothing over the noise of a stare down. “He’s in Homicide and Violent Crime, but it’s his day off. I’d like to tell him about Danner before you do, if you don’t mind. Especially since he sent me those awful messages. I don’t want Kolyat to read about it in a report.”

I was talking to two men who had read Danner’s attempt at flirting, culminating in a badly lit photo of his dick. They also saw my college attempt at nudes; I asked Danner to delete them years ago, but it was very much on brand that the bastard did not. My tits were probably seen by others now, passed around on a datapad in a locker room.

Surely the novelty of an ex’s nudes was old news, I didn’t want Kolyat seeing any of that in a C-Sec email, not without an explanation first. Even if it was just: _I was dumb and I dated an asshole_ , it was better from me than them.

“That’s the point of our asking,” Constable Temi replied. “Your detective shouldn’t be reading the report in the first place. If you remember anything else about Danner Gossimer, contact us. Here are my details.”

My wrist buzzed, but I ignored it. Christ, I wanted to throw up. Were they on the extranet too? Time to visit my info broker. Maybe Brath can do it from his desk, it’s his fault he made them mad.

Why were they even here in the first place, because I blocked my ex-boyfriend from contacting me? There was more to this than a skycar crash.

“Of course,” I said. “But I don’t think I can be much help.”

“Seems as if we’re done here,” Brath replied, fiddling with his cuff-links. “Let me walk you out, Ms. Lee has work to do. Back entrance, if you don’t mind. We got a bunch of press outside, and I don’t think you want to make the Citadel News today.”

“Hold on,” I said, following them out the door. I kept my voice low and hushed. “The photos. I asked Danner to delete them after we broke up, several times actually. I don’t know what he kept, that’s an offence, right?” I frowned, already knowing the answer- it wasn’t one to begin with, not here. “We’ve been over for years. The war happened, I moved on. Apparently he didn’t.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do anything about that,” Constable Vikander replied.

Batarian body language was subtle to read, but I knew what pity looked like on Brath. I didn’t follow right away; the reception was empty even of Simon when I walked back to the elevator, waiting for Brath to return. The entire floor was eerily quiet, white walls echoing from my footsteps. It sheltered even the noise of the press outside the door, but the silence was not for long.

I had waited for Brath for a reason. “Don’t you dare do that to me again,” I said.

I hit the elevator call button for us both. “Yeah?” Brath looked away, fingers on his cufflinks again. “Had to move them out of the building.”

He knew exactly the mess I was in, and that he had made it worse. “They’re _C-Sec_. Not a couple of press loitering by the front desk.”

Brath smiled his usual sharp little grin. “They were taking up room and eating our food. Still a pest.”

My anger got the better of me. “I had it under control,” I told him, stabbing his chest with a finger. “Don’t you dare assume I needed rescuing, they would’ve left here with nothing. Believe it or not, I can handle C-Sec on my own.”

“I’m sure it's your months of experience. I’ll make a note,” he said, words edged in sarcasm. “But I was doing my job.” Brath righted the fold of his grey suit where I rumpled it, mouth pinched.

That I did snort at. “You wanted to throw your weight around, nothing to do with security.”

The door to the elevator opened. “There’s more to what I do than this building, Oriana. That includes dealing with bent cops.”

“You don't talk to me for a while.” I refused to look back at him, my heeled boots made a satisfying stomp back to my desk. The skeleton crew of staff left working were too focused on their terminals to notice my mood; even the engineer floor empty of the sight of Sorel bent over his rock samples, probably lured by the fuss of the press conference.

My work routine was already a mess, thanks to the _Athame’s Grace._ The news of Danner was another problem I had to deal with, but no matter how many times I tried to call Kolyat, all I got was a Do Not Disturb message. There were several reasons he didn’t pick up his personal line, but I forced myself to think about it logically before I made a mistake.

I don’t think C-Sec would contact him immediately, if at all. They would keep an eye on him, but from a distance. Maybe they assumed I’d pout at my detective boyfriend, and persuade him to find out what really happened with Danner.

Not that I think he would, but there were ways around the system that even I could find. Always was, but this time I genuinely didn’t care. Christ, it was callous to even think the words in the silence of my head. _I didn’t care._

Danner Gossimah died, it was sad. I knew it was, but he was my ex, and for good reason. I finally grew a spine at twenty years of age and dumped him, fed up of it going nowhere. He was my first serious boyfriend- he took a lot of firsts, actually. I wanted him so much to be _The One_ , and get it right the first go.

I was obsessed with the concept, but that’s all it was, in the end. Just an idea I had in my head. He didn’t care about me, but he liked fucking me- and others too. Danner cheated when we were together; I knew deep down he did, but refused to see it, even if everyone else knew. To them I was the weird spacer girl, too backwards to notice it happen under her nose.

It’s funny, I was never a spacer to begin with, my classmates just assumed I was. My life was in Illium before I knew what Bekenstein was; a different kind of colony with a different kind of money, but it all rose up the same way in the end.

It was meant to be a place for innovation and startups. _Make it in Bek, got ‘em by the neck._ I never fitted in with the wannabe entrepreneurs, the bored heirs in line to daddy’s mining corp. Instead I was labelled a home-schooled spacer who said odd things, you know- the one with big tits. Good for group work though, she does it all.

College was universally meant to be this life-changing experience, even my parents were nostalgic for theirs. I liked most of the classes, especially engineering; I wanted to learn all I could, but also had cliques and shitty boyfriends to deal with, and left with an overwhelming sense I was never going to be one of them. Who I was with Danner was still a memory I cringed at, but no one thought their younger selves made the smartest decisions in life, did they? I was allowed to make mistakes, especially at university. _Especially_ then.

Danner was right about one thing, when he messaged me; the war did change things. Even if Bekenstein was still in one piece, I had no desire to finish whatever life I started there. I completed a basic civil degree through the Alliance, and walked straight into work after. It wasn’t the plan I originally had for myself, but I could always go back to my studies. The concept of college wasn’t over because my time was soured by trust fund babies, but the war shifted my ideals somewhere else.

I wanted to help put the universe back together, to be proactive- to do something right from all the damage I saw, and _still_ see. It’s the one spot of blind optimism I allowed myself, the one that got me out of bed each day. I don’t need to know the how and why of Danner Gossimah getting himself killed, why would I? I knew it would devastate his family, but it was just the passing of news to me.

I could still grieve for the boy he could’ve been, if I wanted to. I could light a candle to the best version of Danner there was, the one I always wanted him to be- even if it was only fiction. I would have liked to meet him. Maybe he would’ve got better and there was a chance to, but not now.

God, what a waste of everything. My eyes prickled, and I don’t know why. He didn’t deserve any more tears, not from me.

I couldn’t even remember what he looked like, I wasn’t Kolyat. Blue-grey eyes. Brown hair that went blonde in the summer. A crooked smile. The sweat on his skin after a game. Little broken flashbacks, muddy and distorted. All of it a mess, tainted by my perception and memories of him.

There was no one around to watch me break down in the safety of my storage room. “No more crying,” I said, but I don’t know who for.

I pressed my hands into my face and let myself sob over the version Danner I had never met, and the life I had lost in Bekenstein.


End file.
